Pay No Attention
by EyrieStory
Summary: It all started when Arthur notices Princess Mithian paying a little too much attention to a certain manservant. Bewildered, Arthur resolves to figure out what could possibly attract a princess to someone like Merlin, only to find that his discoveries lead him down a rabbit hole he never expected. [Merlin, Mithian], Arthur, Gwen
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story takes place right after 5x04, where Merlin rescues Mithian and the team. Slightly AUish I would say.

* * *

Chapter 1

"Are you listening, Arthur?"

"Hmmm? Of course, Guinevere."

"Oh? And what was I saying exactly?"

Arthur glanced around the dining hall, which was currently in a cacophony of drunken knights, disapproving advisors, and an amused royal father and daughter, all celebrating their recent victory over Morgana's latest plot to overthrow Camelot. In the midst of this clamor sat his clumsy, incompetent, maddening servant, Merlin, who at times seemed both flustered and pleased. He sat at the dining table for perhaps the first time in his life, right beside Princess Mithian—a seating arrangement that elicited a perplexed frown from King Arthur.

Shaking his head slightly, Arthur forced his brain to think of whatever may be the most recent concern of his lady wife. With a rotating hand drawing his thought from the air, he said, "I'm sure whatever color you choose for your Samhain gown would you suit you quite well."

Guinevere stared at him for a beat.

"Or…maybe this is where I shut up, apologize, offer you a day of romantic escapades with just us, and ask you to graciously repeat yourself to my undeserving clotpole ears?"

She smiled. "Clotpole?"

"Courtesy of Merlin's wordsmith prowess. I'm quite honored actually: he has a whole list of words he uses just for me. I swear most of them he made up, but he insists they are idiomatic, whatever that even means. I mean, how does a servant even know that word, much less how to use it in a sentence? I must speak to Geoffrey to corroborate its existen-"

"Arthur," Gwen said, indulgently. "Actually, Merlin was who I was talking about."

At that, Arthur looked at her with his full attention. "Oh?"

"Yes. I mean look at him." The two royals turned their heads toward their current topic of interest. Merlin was whispering something to Princess Mithian. _In a rather too familiar way_ , Arthur thought.

Gwen continued. "This is the first time I've seen him enjoy a celebration rather than serve at it. And sitting next to our guest of honor…from everything you told me, and from what I've heard about his heroics in the past few days, not to mention his unwavering service and loyalty to you for all these years, perhaps it is time we should consider a change in his position."

But at this point, Arthur was no longer paying attention, as he had just witnessed Princess Mithian unashamedly giggle at whatever Merlin had said, surreptitiously touching his hand.

Arthur had to stop himself from gaping. "Do you see that? How, how is that possible? She, she looks like she may be…" Arthur shuddered, " _Flirting_ with him."

Gwen giggled. "So?"

Arthur looked at her like she had turned into a troll right there and then. "So, he's _Mer_ lin."

Gwen sighed, perhaps a tinge too wistfully. "I can see the appeal," she said, with a little secretive smile.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at her. "Is there something you need to tell me about my servant, Guinevere?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Only that he has certain…qualities that appeal to the fairer sex."

"And what exactly are these _qualities_ and how would you know about them?"

"Come now, I've been his friend for awhile, and I've seen this castle as both a servant and royal. Nothing much gets past me. There's been many a servant girl and noblewoman alike who turn her head when he walks past."

"Are you sure we're talking about the same person?"

"And beyond that, it's his kind heart, generous spirit, astonishing bravery, and sharp wit that's gotten him a whole host of admirers."

"You can't be serious…" Nonetheless, Arthur took the moment to study Merlin further. He had certainly filled out his baggy, well-worn clothes in the past few years, his shoulders broader and his arms wired with a quiet strength. Princess Mithian sure seemed to notice this increased definition, her hand lingering on his bicep or chest at points of emphasis in her story-telling.

And Merlin had improved in the training field, Arthur admitted begrudgingly. He was no longer a rather amusing target, but a man who could hold his own in a round, at least for a little while before Arthur turned his full strength on him. _I suppose after all these years he could not help but soak up some swordplay techniques, but exactly when did this happen?_ Arthur wondered. How did he go from cowering fool to cutting down a man about to take Arthur's life without so much as a hitched breath?

The man had always been brave, Arthur would give him that. He had called out Arthur the very first day they met, despite the fact that Arthur was fully armed and a stone heavier. But Merlin had been brave and seemingly weak, and now he was what? The hero of the day? Maybe this was what was really bothering Arthur. He was used to being the savior, the one whom people turned to for help, the one whom people heaped praises on. Tonight, however, Mithian was clearly showing her appreciation to Merlin, and multiple knights had walked over and clapped him on the shoulder, offering him a toast. There was clear pride in Gaius's eyes, and even King Rodor, the princess's father, looked at him with an inquisitive appreciation. _God, he already had the king wrapped around his finger..._

"Perhaps there is more to my servant that I realized…"

"Yes, and that is why I think we should offer him—"

But Arthur's attention was once again elsewhere. There was something that had inextricably shifted in this last mission. Some new understanding, that was at once shocking and oddly familiar. Unexplainable circumstances explained by an unbelievable amount of luck. And they only seemed to happen when the servant was around. _How in the world had Merlin survived all these years without a piece of armor or sword to his name? And what is with all of those falling branches that just so happen to save them at the most opportune time? Or God, the cave-ins? So many cave-ins. And don't even get started with the Dorocha incident or the perfectly timed earthquake or…or his unworldly wisdom. How does a servant, especially one as young as Merlin, obtain a wisdom that could make even the most accomplished scholars jealous?_

Merlin had always seemed the weakest of them, and yet he had faced the toughest of foes and most impossible of circumstances without blinking an eye. At those moments, he walked with a confidence that bespoke a powerful man, unfazed and determined. Many a time, he had been the one that pushed Arthur, the best swordsman in the kingdom, to face the unbeatable enemy. Arthur had marveled at that bravado. And yet, it wasn't bravado. Merlin's was a confidence that expressed a surety that one only saw from someone that had supreme mastery in a skill, such as a fine-tuned warrior or an innate virtuoso. That made no sense, however, considering that there wasn't a tree root in existence that didn't defeat Merlin in a battle of positional supremacy. He just didn't have any skills that could justify such unerring confidence. _Though the juggling was rather impressive_ , Arthur duly noted.

Something didn't add up. The events of the past few days had brought Merlin's enigmatic qualities out in full display. Merlin was a puzzle that Arthur had been unable to solve all these years. Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin. But, he had never turned his full attention to it either. Princess Mithian would not be the only royal watching a certain manservant closely.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! I was inspired but how adorable Merlin and Mithian were in that episode. I mean, isn't it a little crazy that she instinctively went to Merlin for help, instead of Arthur, the "save the world" type of guy, as Gwen would say? I was also quite dissatisfied at how little the characters acknowledged/appreciated Merlin's quite impressive heroics and decided that need to be remedied! More coming up - perhaps even from Mithian's POV!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Rise and shine, sire! It's time to face the day." Merlin stormed into the room, carrying Arthur's breakfast tray.

Arthur emitted a sound that could be mistaken for the groan of a wilddeoren in labor. Not that Merlin had ever heard such a thing. But still, if one were ever to imagine what that sounded like…

Merlin plunked himself in the seat at the head of the table, ripping off a piece of rye bread.

"Come on, sire, you must get up. Today is an important day after all." Merlin shoveled the bread into his mouth. "You know that the early bird gets the worm. Or in this case, the late bird gets the leftovers," Merlin mumbled with a now full mouth, helping himself to a piece of sausage.

"Please don't tell me you're having one of those days where you speak only in idioms," Arthur intoned, pulling the blanket over his head.

Merlin had learned the two surest ways of waking Arthur. One was to physically pull him out of the bed. That, however, ran the risk of Arthur falling asleep on the floor, and then at that point it was back to square one. The other, safer option was to expose him to the smell of food in the morning, coupled with the risk of losing said food to Merlin's appetite.

" _Mmm,_ now this is a meal fit for kings," Merlin said, savoring the hearty breakfast with a loud smack of his lips. "Cook really outdid herself this time." Merlin silently counted down, _Three, two, one—_

"MERLIN!" Arthur jumped to a sitting position. "Are you eating my breakfast again?"

"Now sire, Gaius always tells me that it gets harder to lose weight as you grow older. I'm only looking out for you as you advance in years."

"Did you just manage to call me old _and_ fat?" Arthur looked around for the nearest object to throw.

"I would never…! I'm simply following a physician's advice, which just so happens to be applicable here."

Arthur, not finding an object heavy enough for his satisfaction, advanced upon his unfortunate servant. "Oh, I'm not the one who'll need a physician's advice after this!"

Merlin scrambled to his feet. "Glad to see you up and about in such a timely manner, sire. Just a reminder that you have a council meeting in about thirty minutes. You know, the one with the _two other kings_? Gwen is already there, waiting for you," Merlin said, smiling cheekily. "I'll be off now…polishing armor and all that." Merlin ran out the door before Arthur could utter another syllable.

Smiling with exasperation, Arthur silently vowed revenge. He shook his head and turned his focus to the impending council meeting.

* * *

Arthur, now fully composed and in regalia, walked to the council room. He turned the corner and saw two men in front of the double doors that led to the room, in the throes of an intense discussion. Arthur quickly recognized King Rodor and King Odin.

Making a split second decision, Arthur dove into an alcove before the two kings noticed him. It was not Arthur's style to eavesdrop, but some of the words that drifted down the hall had caught his attention. Perhaps he could even gain some information that would give him the upper hand for negotiations later in the council meeting.

"Don't think I can so easily forgive what you have done, Odin," King Rodor faced the other man with squared shoulders. "But for the sake of Arthur's work in brokering peace, I am willing to lay aside your grievous offenses for now. Both of us are getting more out of this than I could have thought possible. Young and inexperienced as he is, Arthur deserves our gratitude."

"The man has some steel, I will allow him that. Loathe as I am to admit it, Arthur convinced me of a truce, yes. But that was only because that boy of an advisor convinced Arthur first."

Rodor looked slightly taken aback. "Advisor?"

"Yes. The boy that was with him?" At Rodor's blank look, Odin continued, "He is tallish, dark hair, pale, odd handkerchief around his neck."

"Ah, that would be Arthur's personal manservant, Merlin."

"Surely you jest? A servant," Odin scoffed, "that was no servant. He spoke with as much authority as any king I've heard. Arthur readied to swing a deadly blow to my person, but the boy's voice was enough to stay his sword.

"His voice had Arthur frozen in the midst of the angry passions of both combat and vengeance. Have you heard of such a thing? The boy spoke with no great volume, but in that moment he had two kings in his thrall. Would a servant dare speak like that to his master, and sway the destiny of two kingdoms?"

Rodor shook his head in amazement. "All I know is that what you say matches the description of his servant Merlin, who ran alongside Arthur to face you."

"That is more than a little unusual... But if this is true, is Arthur not weak to be swayed by a mere servant in such a way?"

"On the contrary, does it not show strength that he would heed the words of wisdom, no matter the lowly source? If the truest advice comes from a servant, then Arthur does well to not dismiss it out of hand simply because of the difference in status."

"Perhaps not weak, then, but foolish to keep such a man as a servant."

"Now that," Rodor smiled, "I cannot disagree with."

The two men entered through the council room doors.

Arthur let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Slightly dazed, he followed them into the room.

Though this council meeting was instrumental in establishing terms, Arthur found it hard to concentrate. As the council droned on about the timeline of Odin's troops pulling out of Nemeth, and the potential of trading wheat between Camelot and Nemeth due to the latter's low crop yield, Arthur's mind continually drifted to a certain lowly manservant. Who _was_ Merlin, to have attracted the attention of three kings, and a princess to boot?

* * *

"What has the practice dummy done today to inspire your particular ire?" Merlin called from the bench, watching Arthur decimate the straw man to near oblivion.

Arthur continued to swing his mace with vehemence, releasing cries of pent up frustration and some other feeling he had trouble pinning. "Don't make me replace the dummy with you, Merlin," Arthur said through gritted teeth.

"Shutting up, sire."

"Hey, Merlin!" Gwaine sat next to him, throwing his arm around his shoulders. He had a smile that was little too wide.

Merlin tried to pull away from the tight grip, eyeing him with suspicion. "What do you want Gwaine?"

"Me? Want anything? Whatever could make you think that?"

"It's that look on your face. I've seen it before, and I want no part in whatever it is."

"See me and the boys have this pool," Gwaine continued as if he had not heard Merlin. "Don't think we didn't see how cozy you and the princess got last night." He backtracked a little as both of them stared at Arthur practicing in front of them. "You and Princess Mithian I mean, not _that_ princess," Gwaine grimaced in Arthur's direction. " _That_ was another wager-"

"Gwaine!"

Gwaine let out a hearty laugh. "I kid, I kid. Anyway, we have this pool for you and Mithian. Now, if you truly cared about me, being your best friend and all, by the end of the week, you need to—"

"I refuse to take part in any of this!"

Gwaine took in Merlin's blush and laughed, hitting his arm. "Why didn't you tell me you had it this bad, huh? Look, it's simple really, and I can, you know, teach you all the ways to woo the delicate heart of a lady."

"I will certainly not be taking any _wooing_ guidance from you, Gwaine. Last time I tried heeding your advice I had to wash mead out of my hair for a week to get the smell out. No thank you."

"Oh come now, I'm hurt. Who else you got to help you gain a lady's favor? Arthur's been out of the game for a while, Percival's got all the charm of a rock, and Leon's too busy going on unsurvivable missions and not dying, so that really only leaves me. Sorry, my lad. I'm all you got."

"Lord help me," Merlin looked up, exasperated.

"I'll take that as a yes. The first thing you gotta do is..."

"Let me stop you there, Gwaine. Don't bother. Don't waste your time. Mithian and I will never be together."

"You can't quit before you even started!"

"I can and I will. This is a fool's dream, nothing more. You know someone like me can never be with someone like her."

"Someone like who?" came a voice from behind.

Both men spun around to see Mithian standing there, smiling innocently.

"Oh, Princess Mithian," Gwaine exclaimed, clapping Merlin's back, "we were just talking about you!" He took this as his own cue to exit, leaving Merlin sputtering and red-faced.

Mithian looked at Merlin expectantly.

"Oh yeah, about that…" Merlin rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Have you seen the new foal that was born yesterday? Gwaine and I were talking about how maybe you'd like to meet her?"

In the distance, Merlin could have sworn he heard a distinctive, Gwaine-like groan.

* * *

Arthur stopped hitting the dummy and watched Merlin and Mithian walk off together towards the stables. He had witnessed the servant's exchange with Gwaine and with the princess. Suddenly, he felt quite exhausted.

"You look like you could use a drink," Gwaine said, walking towards him.

"You know what, just this time, I may have to take you up on the offer."

Gwaine smiled. "Now that's what I like to hear. Let's go."

Moments later, in _The_ _Rising Sun_ , Gwaine handed Arthur his third tankard of ale.

"So," Gwaine started, as he judged Arthur to be at that prime inhibition-freeing point right before being outright sloshed, "What's got you all worked up lately, princess?"

Arthur replied, with all the gravitas his ale-loosened tongue could muster, " _Mer_ lin."

"Oh my, well that lad sure does get around," Gwaine smirked.

"That's right! That's exactly it! He has been everywhere, and I've been driving myself mad trying to figure out why. It seems like everyone and their mother has been talking about my servant," Arthur said, disapproval clear in his voice.

"Well, and who's to blame them after Merlin almost single-handedly saved us from Odin and Morgana? Surely he finally deserves some recognition."

"What do you mean, he single-handedly saved us?"

"You haven't heard the whole story have you?"

Arthur stared at him blankly.

"Well, here," Gwaine grabbed another mug of ale and set it in front of Arthur, "you may need another drink for this."

Gwaine cleared his throat and continued. "You may recall that Merlin was the only one to be perceptive enough to see something wrong with Mithian and, uh, _Hilda_. So it makes sense that Mithian would try to warn Merlin. He went to fill up her flask with water, and he saw Mithian's written warning that it was Morgana who was behind all of this.

"As you may remember, before Merlin could warn us, Morgana, dressed as that old hag, got to him first. She pushed him with some of her freakish magic, his head hitting a tree trunk hard. She might have done more, but I'm not sure…Whatever it was, we found him knocked out cold.

"It was at this point when _you_ decided to leave Merlin behind, continuing on blindly with the mission even though your friend just got a severe blow to the head through rather suspect means. You didn't even bother to question who may have caused it." Gwaine's usual friendly demeanor was gone, his eyes severe and unforgiving.

Arthur bit back just as sharply, "I left him in the care of you and Gaius – I did not abandon him. And of course I wondered what happened…but I believed that with Rodor hanging in the balance, we didn't have the luxury of time to investigate."

"Was it really Rodor you were so concerned about, or was it your chance for personal vengeance against Odin that so occupied you that you were willing to disregard your friend's injuries? You have no excuse."

"Care for more drinks, gentleman?" the barmaid, a hefty woman who looked oddly familiar, asked, walking up to their table.

Arthur waved her off, and she huffed away. He continued to glare at Gwaine. "Don't you dare pretend to know my motivations or the way I was feeling at that moment."

"Am I wrong?"

Arthur looked down and swirled the remainder of the ale in his mug. "I would have taken Merlin's injuries in his stead in a heartbeat."

Gwaine softened a little. "Perhaps you had mixed motivations, not all of them unworthy and utterly stupid. Let's go on.

"Your group left us, and Merlin was unconscious. Gaius had tried everything, but it was no use. Gaius seemed to imply that it was more than a blow to the head, but I couldn't get a straight answer from the man. Merlin started to get cold to the touch, so Gaius asked me to fetch more firewood.

"When I returned, I saw that Merlin was conscious again. I was of course, thrilled, and couldn't believe it. He saw me and jumped to his feet. You know what the first thing he said was? You know what his only concern was, despite the fact that he seemed near death just a few moments before?"

Arthur looked up from his drink.

"It was _you_ , Arthur. The first thing he says is, 'We need to get to Arthur. He's walking into a trap.' He doesn't even give himself time to breathe or rest before he sprints full-speed after you. He runs, almost non-stop, for _an hour_ to get you, Arthur. Even with his injuries, he manages this feat—one most people can't do normally—out of his desperation to save you. There were times _I_ had trouble keeping up with _him_."

The ale sat heavy in Arthur's stomach.

"We finally reach the tomb, which is of course heavily guarded. Here again it is _Merlin_ who devises a strategy. He heads toward the tomb to take out the entrance guards, and I go the other way to take out the perimeters. I don't know what happens in the tomb—"

"Oh you know, the usual. I find that Mithian led us on a false mission to our deaths, and Hilda is actually my sister in disguise as an aged woman in league with Odin to kill us. Odin is about to lob off my head, when the tomb shakes and he is thrown off-kilter."

Gwaine's eyes widen. "Yes, I felt the earth shake too, outside of the tomb."

"I must admit, it was a bit strange…but I didn't think too much of it then because there were weapons coming in every direction trying to end my life and all. Indeed, at that point, one such weapon was coming in behind me to strike me down, when someone struck him down first. When the man fell over, I saw that it was Merlin, of all people, that had dealt the blow. I can't say I was mad at that idiot for running straight into battle this time. He then led our group out of the tomb as it was collapsing."

"Outside, I shot the guards that had the rest of the knights surrounded, and we sprinted into battle. We saw you all leave the tomb unharmed, running away to get Rodor and Mithian to safety."

"Yes, Merlin and I separated from the rest of them so that we could lead Odin away. That is where Odin and I dueled, and he ended up at my mercy."

"So," Gwaine asked, already suspecting the answer, "why didn't you kill him?"

"Merlin. He convinced me it wouldn't serve any purpose, that it wouldn't unite the lands. And he was right. Then I in turn convinced Odin to accept a truce."

"Well don't you two make a pair."

"And that's the end of the story."

"Or is it? Tell me, princess," Gwaine demanded, grinning, "What, or rather, _who_ is the common thread in this whole epic tale?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes contemplatively. "I've begun to notice that too…Hell, he seems to be involved in almost every circumstance that occurred somehow. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if he was behind that fortuitous earthquake."

"Now wouldn't that be something?" Gwaine asked with an air of innocence. "Isn't that just like Merlin, though? To go rushing headfirst into the first sign of trouble, without any regard for his personal safety?"

"Wait…" Arthur's eyes opened wide. "Say that again."

"That Merlin rushes headfirst at the first sign of trouble?"

"Yes, thank you! I think I know a way to solve my little dilemma," Arthur laughs, a little unhinged from emotion and alcohol and alcohol-induced emotion.

"What is it?" Gwaine asked, intrigued.

"Oh just a little _test_ to fathom my servant out and finally solve the mystery that is Merlin once and for all."

Gwaine did not like the sound of that. "What are you planning to do? I swear, if you end up hurting Merlin in any way…"

"I'm not going to hurt Merlin. I just need to draw him out a little."

"You sound like you're trying to catch a thief or something. I don't like this."

"Don't worry, Gwaine, it's nothing as sinister as that."

"You better be telling the truth. Because if I found out otherwise…just remember that Merlin will always have my loyalty first."

"Even above loyalty to me and Camelot?"

"Up to now, all three have been one and the same."

The barmaid again came up to them, this time surly. "Care for any more gentlemen?"

"Actually yes," Arthur said, feeling a little apologetic for his earlier behavior. "Could I get whatever Merlin's regular is?"

"Who's Merlin?"

"You know, the boy that comes here every week and spends hours if not days here drinking away his life? Black hair, tall, slim, has a weird neckerchief thing?"

"Oh, now that you mention it, I do remember seeing you three at the tavern in the village down yonder awhile back. You must mean that handsome lad you were with before you all reduced the tavern into rubble?"

Arthur reluctantly nodded.

"Nope, haven't seen him since that one time he was with you. Believe me, I would know. One doesn't forget a face like that," she sighed, dreamily.

"Arthur, what are you on about?" Gwaine asked. "As much as I've tried to get him to come, Merlin almost _never_ goes to the tavern. I've never seen the lad so much as hiccup from a sip of too much mead."

It took a moment for the words to hit Arthur.

The tavern occupants were not prepared for the stream of not-so-kingly expletives that followed Gwaine's revelation.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for the feedback/follows/favs! You inspire me to get these chapters out faster.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 _Merlin was deathly pale and cold as Arthur secured him to the horse. For all intents and purposes, the man should be dead. Arthur swallowed hard._

" _This is my fault, and I'm sorry."_

" _Take me with you, please," Merlin pleaded._

 _Arthur marveled at his audacity, his loyalty, even on the brink of death. Surely there was no one else but Merlin that could elicit an emotion that simultaneously made he want to hit him, embrace him, and cry. Saints above, Merlin would be the one to call him a girl when—if—he came back._

" _You'd die, Merlin."_

" _You don't understand. Please, Arthur."_

" _You ever do what you're told?" Arthur asked, his breath hitching on the last word._

" _I have to come with you."_

" _Merlin," Arthur reprimanded gently and with finality._

 _Lancelot, losing some of his patience, called out: "We need to leave!"_

 _Arthur grasped Merlin's shoulder. "Go!"_

 _Arthur's stomach clenched at the sight of his friend departing, sprawled and lifeless on the horse's back. There was a chance that Arthur would never…No. Arthur forced himself not to think. Not to think about anything at that moment._

" _Percival, Leon," he said turning to his knights, "gather our supplies and prepare the horses. We ride to the Isle posthaste."_

 _Arthur had to shut down his thoughts as they slithered their tendrils past his defenses, threatening to overtake him. Legs trembling, Arthur struggled to rise up on to his mount._

 _Whatever he did, he couldn't allow himself to think._

 _He couldn't allow himself to think that there wasn't a single human that had encountered the Dorocha and lived._

Arthur's eyes shot open, his heart beating painfully at the memory even after all this time. _How could you have been such an idiot, Merlin?_

He didn't know why these moments in time had come bidden to his mind lately, like random, mocking prophecies from capricious gods, seemingly without pattern or reason. Well, no, that wasn't quite true. The only pattern Arthur could discern, the through-line that connected all of these isolated bits of memory, was Merlin.

Merlin, who thought nothing of leaping into deadly wraiths or swallowing poison or standing unarmed against robbers or warriors or dragons or sorceresses or kings.

Arthur caressed Gwen's curls as she breathed easily in her sleep. Come what may, Arthur would find what he was missing. He swung out of the bed, bare feet stinging against the cold, stone floor, determined to launch the first part of his plan.

* * *

"You've been acting a little strangely the past few days," Mithian stated, confronting Arthur in the hallway outside of the throne room.

"Well, I do have two kings and their delegations to contend with, one of which was hell-bent on killing me just earlier this week."

"Hmm, no," Mithian said, shaking her head, "that's not it. All least not all of it."

Arthur raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. He would need to remember to not underestimate the princess from Nemeth. He shrugged his shoulders. "It's enough for any man."

"But not for you. It's something else. I saw the way you were watching Merlin at the celebration."

"And I saw the way _you_ were watching _him_."

Mithian smiled beatifically. "Yes, I did discomfit him a bit didn't I? Can't say he didn't like it though."

Arthur groaned. "Please don't. No details or I may not be able to keep down my breakfast."

"I'll spare your majesty, for now. Tell me," Mithian said, as both of them turned to enter the throne room, "how long has Merlin been in your employ?"

Arthur thought for a moment. "Closing in on a decade I would say."

"Interesting. And tell me, have any of the men you knighted done _half_ as much as Merlin has done for you?" Mithian's unwavering eyes fixed on him.

Arthur froze, looking a bit like the princess has just pulled out a dagger and plunged it in his side without so much as batting an eye. "If, if you have something to say to me, princess, just say it." Arthur sat heavily on his throne, next to Guinevere. Mithian stood straight and head held high, every ounce of aplomb on display.

Merlin chose that moment to enter the room, out of breath and, as ever, late. Both king and princess looked towards him, one infinitely unamused and the other unabashedly pleased.

"Apologizes, sire," he said with an impish grin, bowing a little as an afterthought.

Mithian turned back to Arthur. "I think I've said all I need to."

Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, Merlin, so good of you to finally honor us with your presence. Truly we are privileged to get even a little bit of your time out of your busy schedule."

Merlin appeared nonplussed. "Well sire, if you have a problem with my chronic tardiness you may consider not ordering me to wash your filthy socks before important meetings. The stench itself doesn't even lessen until at least the third wash—"

Mithian suppressed a laugh in her hand.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur warned. He rose from his seat, hands clasped his back contemplatively. "You know Merlin…You've had _two_ royal ladies champion you in the past few days."

Merlin's mouth opened and closed, unable to get out anything but a weak, "Oh?"

Arthur continued, walking towards him and slinging an arm around his shoulders. "They have both vied for your character and implied that perhaps you deserved some sort of recognition, or I don't know, a promotion?"

Still incredulous, Merlin was silent.

"And that has gotten me thinking. Yes, I know, an occupational hazard as you so call it," Arthur clapped his shoulder a bit too roughly. "But, maybe these wise ladies had a point? What do you think, Merlin?"

"I, uh, well…I don't know Arthur." Merlin's body appeared to be closing in on itself.

"Now, now don't be so humble. There is currently a vacancy for court jester, and I have it on good authority that you would be a perfect fit."

Both Gwen and Mithian glared at the back of Arthur's head. Gaius, standing in the sideline next to Geoffrey of Monmouth, raised an eyebrow.

Merlin deflated, laughing a little. "Better to be a court jester than a royal _prat_."

Arthur, about to slap Merlin upside the head, was stopped mid-air by a commotion outside of the door.

Sir Leon came running in. "Your majesty," he said, bowing.

Arthur straightened himself, all business, stepping back to sit on the throne next to his queen. "Speak, Sir Leon."

"Sire, our patrol has ridden here through the night. We spotted Morgana down south in the Forest of Brechfa. We were unable to apprehend her."

"Morgana? So close to Camelot and so soon?" Arthur looked over at Mithian, who had visibly paled. She was now standing by Merlin, and at Morgana's name had clutched Merlin's arm instinctively.

"Yes, sire. She appeared to be…weakened perhaps, and yet still managed to elude us. She did not try to attack." Leon shifted from one foot to another.

Arthur looked at Gwen and then back across the room. "If it is as you say…that she is weakened, then we must use this chance and we must strike. It is time to play the offensive. Gather the knights, Sir Leon. We ride at dawn."

* * *

"Even if she is weakened she is still powerful, Arthur."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, Merlin," Arthur said, pulling off his mud-caked boots for the evening. He threw them off carelessly. Merlin followed their arch in the air, wincing as they landed on the rug, splattering mud thereon.

Merlin sputtered indignantly, "Do you have any idea how long it'll take to get that out?"

Arthur just continued to disrobe, unhitching his cape and sending it flying in the direction of the muddy boots and rug despite Merlin's outraged cry of "No!"

"Help me with the chain mail, won't you?" Arthur asked, serenely.

Merlin muttered under his breath.

"Hmm, what was that?"

"Nothing sire, just saying how much of a _joy_ it is to serve you."

"That's what I thought." Looking at Merlin's downturn face as he assisted with unclasping the arm guards, Arthur softened his stance a little bit. "Merlin, you have nothing to worry about. If Morgana is weakened, we need press our advantage. We cannot let this chance pass us by."

"Arthur, how are you planning to defeat her? You and the knights have had no answer for her powers yet, weak as they may be at the moment!"

"And she hasn't defeated us yet either has she?"

Merlin was silent.

Arthur raised his hands as Merlin helped pull the chain mail off. "I'm not just thinking of myself, or even just Camelot. Two royal delegations are here, and I must think of the newfound peace we've established, vulnerable to Morgana's manipulations. Odin in particular seems capable of being swayed by her."

Merlin still appeared to hesitate.

"And Mithian," Arthur said, emphasizing her name, "may be vulnerable too. Morgana's pride has taken a blow, and I fear that she may blame the princess for ruining her plans. After all, Morgana watched Mithian's every step, and yet Mithian was still able to defy her by running to you."

At last, Merlin looked up at Arthur and nodded slowly. "I wouldn't want to put the princess in a position of danger again," he admitted.

"Then we are in agreement. See you at the crack of dawn. Don't be late!" Arthur said, dumping the chain mail unceremoniously into Merlin's arms.

* * *

He waited in the hallway outside of his chambers, looking out through the window at the dark courtyard below. Pulling the hood of his navy blue cloak over his head, he was ready for a midnight trek through the woods if need be.

His heart fluttering like a dying candle flame, he waited with baited breath. A part of him was hoping that his hunch would be proven right, and the other, larger part of him was terrified that it would be.

His breath almost left his body when he saw a familiar, tall figure move silently through the courtyard. He cursed and snapped into action, whisking down the hallway.

At a window one level below, another pair of eyes was watching the same figure sneak out of the castle, these eyes chestnut-brown and just as determined.

* * *

A/N: Thanks all for the responses I've gotten thus far. So appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Finally some Merlin/Mithian goodness for you all. There's probably about 2 chapters left after this one, unless the characters decide to do their own thing (which they are wont to do). Thanks dear readers and enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 4

Mithian didn't normally follow mysterious manservants in the dead of night through a dark forest bent on confronting the most formidable sorceress in the land, but by all the goddesses of old she sure wasn't going to let Merlin face her alone.

For that could be the only explanation for what Merlin was doing, moving stealthily through the northern entrance of Brechfa Woods. The moon shined full and heavy, offering Mithian a clear view of the tall, lithe man ahead, its silver beams filtering through the canopy of the trees, glinting sporadically off his shadow-black hair like a kaleidoscope.

She sped up her pace, eager to not lose sight of him. Hunting instincts kicked in, her muscles adjusting to spring lightly on the balls of her feet, her sharp ear noting every sound: the crickets chirping beneath the grass, the rodents shuffling in the undergrowth, the tremble of the chill wind weaving through the leaves above, the ghost of the footfalls from the man ahead, almost in sync with the surrounding nocturnal orchestra.

It's not like he was _prey_ exactly, though that thought did have its appeal. Mithian smiled and moved steadily ahead. No, she wouldn't make herself known until they were past the point of no return: he would have no choice but to take her with him in his incredibly foolish and brave mission. An absolutely, infuriatingly stupid undertaking. Mithian was only mad she hadn't thought of it first.

Not that she would ever want to face Morgana alone. Never, never again. But with Merlin at her side, it somehow seemed…right. That thought gave her pause. Her instinct was once again ahead of her brain, a malady she suffered from often, according to her father. She felt, more than understood, that she was missing a key piece that would open her eyes to the man who hadn't left her mind since she returned to Camelot. The man was obviously competent; one would need to be as utterly oblivious as a tipped cow not to see it. Mithian chided herself: Arthur would not appreciate his kingly acumen being compared to the mental aptitude of a dazed bovine.

Mithian shortened the distance between her and Merlin, judging how far they were inside the forest. Staring so intently at the set of his surprisingly broad shoulders to ascertain whether he sensed anything was off (or so she told herself), she tripped ever so slightly on a loose rock. She cursed silently, and stopped breathing. Merlin paused ahead, bristling to full height, muscles tightening like a compacted spring. After a moment of listening, Merlin finally continued, muttering something that Mithian could not make out.

Mithian finally allowed herself to breathe, and slowly picked up after him again. She just needed to get another mile or so farther before she was deep enough into the woods that Merlin wouldn't dare send her back to Camelot unescorted, especially in the dark.

What was Merlin thinking, going to face off Morgana by himself? He of all people should know what she was capable of; after all, she had almost killed him just a few days ago. Mithian winced at the memory: it was perhaps the lowest of the low points in the whole seemingly unending nightmare. She would never forget Merlin laying there unconscious as she was forced to continue, knowing that she put him in that position. He had been hurt because she hadn't been careful enough, hadn't been clever enough to outwit Morgana or anticipate her next moves. When she had sent him to the brook to fill up her water skin, she unknowingly led him straight into the arms of the sorceress, with Merlin unsuspecting and certainly unprepared. It was all she could think to do at the time, but it still constricted her throat when she remembered it. Maybe one day Merlin could forgive her, for she knew she could never forgive herself.

Finally, Mithian recognized that soon they would be approaching a clearing, which was located at the central point of the forest. She picked up her pace then, running ahead to Merlin, her black velvet cape swishing against her purposefully heavy steps. Within closing distance, Merlin swung around, sword in his hand, defensive position ready.

Mithian stopped a half dozen feet from him, her hood covering her face in shadow.

Merlin gripped the sword tighter, raising it towards her. "Reveal yourself," Merlin said, his voice low and dripping with authority.

Her laugh rang through the woods as she slipped down her hood. "You really are full of surprises, Merlin."

" _Mithian_?" Merlin asked, shocked, his voice now back to a more familiar incredulous tenor. He lowered the sword. "What are you doing, following me? You shouldn't be here!"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm going with you."

"No, you're not."

"I don't seem to recall giving you a say in the matter," Mithian said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Mithian, you can't, it's much too dangerous. If your father found out, or even Arthur, they would have my head on a pike, quarter my limbs, and feed my kidneys to the hounds…and, and I would _agree_ with them."

Mithian scoffed and shook her head. "My actions are my own, Merlin, and so are any consequences. I _chose_ to come here, of my own volition. And I _choose_ to go with you, despite knowing we may have to face _her_." Mithian couldn't help but shudder.

"I know," he said softly, "but I can't put you in this position again."

"You never put me there in the first place!" Mithian cried, exasperated. "It was _I_ who, who…Merlin please, I need to come with you. If they throw you in a dungeon for a decision I made, they'll have to throw me in too."

Merlin looked close to panic. "No, Mithian, you can't say that…"

"Merlin," she said, stepping closer to him carefully, like she would for a wild animal about to bolt, "I will come with you. I know you don't want me to. I know you think this puts me in danger. I also know you think I'll get in the way," she said, reading the rightness of her conjecture in the widening of his eyes. "You are determined to take down Morgana—heaven knows how—and you think I'm another obstacle—"

"I don't think of you like that, Mithian. I don't regard you as an obstacle, never ever that. But I do work best alone." Looking at her downtrodden face, he quickly added, "I'm going for you, you know."

"Oh really?" Mithian asked probingly.

"Well, not only for you," he confessed. "But in a way, it was you that gave me the final push to do this in the first place."

"Then let me be here for you, Merlin. Don't take this on just your shoulders, don't hoard this burden for yourself. From my short time here in Camelot, I've seen you do this without fail. Do they not see the weight you carry? You are there for them, for Arthur, over and over again, but _who_ is there for _you_?" Mithian now found herself inches from Merlin, looking up to stare directly into those unfathomable eyes.

Merlin's voice was low and deep, almost a throaty whisper. "I do this because it _is_ my burden to carry, and mine alone. And despite appearances, it actually is better for me to take on Morgana by myself. A whole _troupe_ of knights would hinder…" Merlin paused, biting his lip. "Just, just trust me on that. All it would do is provide the opportunity for more senseless deaths. No, if I face her alone, then….I'm the only one to bear the price."

Mithian noted his straight-backed stance, his tightly coiled muscles, the clear note of authority in his voice: so very different than the happy go lucky manservant he normally portrayed, and even different than the man she first saw all those years ago. "I have no idea what you're planning to do, Merlin, and there's no denying that it's foolhardy. It seems to me, however, that people have underestimated you woefully. But you underestimate others in how they can help you. You underestimate _me_. Don't think I'm not willing to bear that price with you."

Merlin almost staggered then. "But, but why, princess? I am but a servant. Who am I for you to risk your life or to ask you to…take on yourself what is rightfully mine to carry?"

"You _didn't_ ask, but that's hardly going to stop me. You were there for me in my time of need, you saw me, really saw _me_ , when no one else did."

Mithian started walking in the direction of the clearing, and Merlin drew in an exasperated breath before walking alongside her.

Mithian paused before continuing, "I've asked myself this over and over again: why did I come to you? Why not Arthur? I mean, not that you're not a person someone would seek out…but Arthur is the usually the one that...you're just not the first person someone would go to…" She stopped, an apologetic look on her face. Merlin merely looked amused at her scrambling. "I'm digging myself into a hole, aren't I?"

"A bit, yes."

"I mean no offense, but surely you've wondered this too."

"Constantly."

"Honestly, though, I didn't really question it at the time. It just seemed natural. I've always thought there was something special about you, Merlin. And you proved me right: from the beginning you looked in my eyes and sensed something was wrong, when no one else did. When you delivered the draught to my room, while I was in the clutches of Hil— _Morgana_ , I didn't even have to say a word. You knew."

Merlin had been her only semblance of hope. She remembered his hand lightly pressing her back and his other hand holding hers gently, but steadily as he guided her to the seat in the throne room. She felt that exact moment of disconnect when Merlin pulled his hand away, leaving her hollow as she looked ahead and lied straight to King Arthur's face.

They entered the clearing, the grassy expanse reverent in the flood of the moon's glow, the taller grasses rustling slightly against the slope of the meadow, the encircling trees a mass of shadows. Here, they received no protection from the worst of the wind's chill. Mithian drew closer to Merlin.

"What do we do now?" Mithian asked.

"You won't be doing anything. You're going back."

"You would make a lady walk all the way back through a forest filled with robbers and all manner of dangerous things in the middle of the night?" Mithian scoffed. "Surely there's something about that in the Knight's Code?"

"Well, see that's the thing—I'm not a knight," he grinned, before sobering and sighing in defeat. He plopped onto the ground near the middle of the clearing, where remnants of a camp fire were evident, and stabbed his sword into the ground. "You're as stubborn as Arthur, my lady," he said, long-sufferingly.

Mithian shot him a small grin, dry twinkle in her eyes. "Prettier, I hope though."

"Oh that is for sure," Merlin said without missing a beat.

Mithian's lips twisted into a smirk, and Merlin had the grace to look flustered, avoiding eye contact. He continued after a moment: "Now we wait. Every major path in the forest converges into this clearing, the heart of Brechfa. If Morgana is anywhere nearby, then here is our best bet to encounter her."

Mithian joined him on the ground, sitting down with her cape cascading around her. She sat close to Merlin, her shoulder touching his. For warmth, of course, she reasoned.

Moments passed with the two of them sinking into the night's sounds, the air cool and quick to find any gaps within their clothing. The rapidly moving clouds above cast shadows on the ground, like black ships sailing across the swelling hills of the meadow, mesmerizing and chilling. Mithian turned to the man next to her. His eyes looked down in contemplation, heavy eyelashes fanning out. The shadows underneath his cheekbones brought them to sharp relief, and the moonlight caressed the tip of his straight nose and his upper lip. His pale neck was also a plane of light and dark, the shadow underneath his sharp Adam's apple dancing as he swallowed slightly. Every angle, edge, and plane was defined, nothing left to waste. He was shadow and light, like the interplay between the moon and the clearing and every bit as ethereal and otherworldly. _He belongs here,_ Mithian thought, startled.

Mithian cut into the nocturnal meditation: "I'm sorry, Merlin."

Merlin looked up at her, confused.

"I'm the reason you were hurt by Morgana. When I saw you down, I wasn't even sure you would make it through, and of all the awful things I did in those few days, that felt the worst. I can't ever forgive that."

"Mithian," he said, enveloping her cool hand into his larger ones. "You were incredibly brave to do what you did, to try to find any way to defy Morgana. You did all you could to warn me, and that's the reason that you, your father, and Arthur are still here today. Never, _ever_ apologize for that."

Mithian smiled, more freely than she had for a long while. "I don't think I've told you this yet, but thank you, Merlin. You saved me and my father. You didn't let Arthur succumb to Morgana's trap. I owe you everything."

Merlin looked down, shyly. "I didn't really do much."

She lightly hit his arm. "Oh stop it! You did more than anyone!" Mithian looked at his hands still holding her own. "You know why I want to face Morgana again?"

"Why?"

"Morgana took something from me: it's not only that she threatened my father and my friends. She took away who I was, my essence, and left me a shell of a person. One who was powerless to help her family and friends, and who would be responsible for their demise because of her weakness. I was so scared," she said with a slight tremble. "But now, I want to look her in the eye and tell her _I'm still here_. She failed to take that away."

Merlin smiled, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "Morgana has a way of leaving you feeling hollow."

"Speaking from experience, hmm?"

"Something like that." Merlin turned Mithian's hand around, exposing her burn scar. He gently traced the mark, his fingers barely a whisper across the thin, delicate skin of her wrist. Mithian shivered.

"I didn't want to go at first you know, when you came to Camelot," he said, swallowing. "Well, I did, I just wanted to make sure…I have learned to—"

"You have learned to not go blindly running to help everyone that comes your way, because every time you do you get burned." She paused. "And that means you can't protect Arthur."

"Am I that easy to read?"

"No, not all, that's the whole point: you are so good at being invisible that people don't even realize what you've done for them or what you're capable of doing. But I have a feeling that's exactly how you want it to be. You don't want—or perhaps can't have—people paying attention to you, so you hide behind your best disarming, innocent-Merlin smile any time someone gets a little too close or questions a little too much. What I'm trying to figure out is why? Sure, it lends itself well to keeping tabs on people and castle activity. But there's more here. Why don't you let people get too close?" _Like now_ , Mithian thought. She could see him scrambling to find an exit from her queries, his tendons pulsating in his neck.

"H-how have you seen all this?"

"I pay attention, Merlin. When I first met you I knew right away I would have to get your approval if I was to entertain any hopes for being with Arthur. He valued, and he still values, your word above all others. If he doesn't show that, it's not because he doesn't trust you. It's because even when you warn him of danger he still feels it's his duty to go anyway, despite the risk to his person. And that's somewhat your fault you know," Mithian added, cheekily.

"How so? I do nothing but warn him when he's being a bullheaded prat!"

Mithian smiled. "Because—and he doesn't realize this I don't think—no matter the impossible odds, he has this unusual faith that he will always return. I have a feeling that a lot of that is due to you."

"I suppose," Merlin said hesitantly.

"Trust me, Merlin. You make him a bit careless. He takes his safety for granted. I wonder what role you've played in that as well…" Mithian prompted.

But Merlin's head had snapped up, looking toward the edge of the trees directly in his line of vision.

Mithian stilled, but heard nothing. She whispered, "What is it?"

Merlin shook his head and kept staring intently forward. He stood up and Mithian followed suit. At first, all she heard was just a faint cracking, like arrows thumping against tree trunks. Soon, the earth thrummed with heavy tread, surging into a clatter of flattening brush, rustling leaves, and splintering branches. Whatever was approaching them wasn't human. Mithian sucked in a breath, heart racing frantically.

Out of the trees crashed a white beast twice the size of any oxen Mithian had seen, each of its scales luminescent in the moonlight, at once terrible and magnificent. Its eyes glowed fixedly in their direction.

Mithian's heart thumped painfully against her chest, her eyes edging in and out of focus. "Is that a, a…?" Words failed her.

Merlin pulled her behind him protectively.

The dragon roared and charged toward the pair, rushing at a speed Mithian could hardly comprehend. Her mind was a complete and utter blur in that moment, where time seemed to bend outside of reality, at once feverishly rapid and achingly slow. All she could remember in that whirring nothingness was one lucid thought: _why wasn't Merlin reaching for his sword?_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Welcome to what is most likely the penultimate chapter. I chose to have Aithusa be female in this AU. Thanks for the responses so far, and enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5

Merlin stepped forward, and with an outstretched hand, said, "Aithusa." The creature continued unimpeded, full speed towards them. "Aithusa, _stop_." He did not speak particularly loudly. Nevertheless, his voice permeated the entire clearing with its intention. Merlin hadn't reached for his sword because, apparently, his voice was the more powerful weapon.

The dragon, to Mithian's amazement, also felt it and slowed down its barreling charge until it lumbered to a stop an arm-length from Merlin's hand, almost as gracelessly as a toddler. It teetered nervously, watching Merlin. "Good girl, Aithusa," Merlin said, returning his arm to his side.

"She knows your voice," Mithian said, in awe.

Merlin turned to her like he just remembered she was there. "Yes, she does," he said, a little sheepishly.

Now closer, the dragon did not appear as grand as she first thought, though still as formidable as any creature that Mithian had encountered. Something, however, was very, very wrong. She did not know much about dragon anatomy, but even she could see the asymmetry of her wing structure, and how the bones seemed to fold in on themselves, crooked and fragile. The vertebrae jutted out alarmingly, and her large magnificent eyes were fringed with dark and scab-like scales. Bile rose in Mithian's throat as she saw the scars that marred her delicate throat, a permanent echo of chains. The worst part was that her confusion and her clumsiness reminded Mithian of a foal still learning to walk, and no doubt, this creature was still a babe. A young, pure being that had already experienced so much.

Merlin stepped closer to her, reaching to touch her snout. Aithusa, as Merlin called her, stared at him with wide eyes, a little afraid and a little hopeful. Mithian marveled at how expressive, how intelligent, her eyes were. Merlin rubbed her snout and neck gently, bringing her closer to him. She froze, then after a moment leaned into his embrace, a gentle purring resonating from deep in her throat.

Yes, she was very young, indeed. Nevertheless, she was still dangerous, all the more so for seeming so lost and confused: a wild, volatile creature who did not seem to understand her own power or her own size, judging by the way she had almost tackled them to the ground.

"She knows you, Merlin. How does she know you?" Mithian asked dazedly, astounded at the scene playing out in front of her. In that moment, she felt like an intruder.

Apparently, the dragon thought so too. She raised cool eyes toward Mithian, a huff releasing from her snout. Mithian almost took a step back instinctively, but stopped herself and straightened her back. Merlin turned toward her and smiled encouragingly, reaching his hand out to Mithian. She took it hesitantly and he pulled her closer to him and to the dragon. Aithusa looked at their joined hands and somehow seemed displeased.

"Aithusa won't hurt you," he said quietly. "Isn't that right, Aithusa?" He turned back to the dragon and gave her a look. Aithusa snorted again. If Mithian didn't know better, she could have sworn this creature seemed jealous for Merlin's affection. "Aithusa," he chided. "Mithian's a…friend. Do you understand? She is my friend, and therefore she is yours. She will not hurt you." Merlin guided Mithian's hand to the top of Aithusa's head.

Pulse racing, Mithian glided her hand over Aithusa's smooth, mother-of-pearl scales, once again marveling. For all her scars and disfigurement, she was beautiful.

Aithusa tolerated her petting, if only for Merlin's sake. Merlin smiled widely as he took them in. He carefully placed his hand over Mithian's, stilling it as it lay on Aithusa's head. The three of them linked so, he bowed his head slightly and closed his eyes, as if committing this moment to his memory. He raised his shining eyes toward Mithian and gave her a smile that threatened to crack.

Finally, he stepped back and his eyes assessed Aithusa clinically, no doubt a skill he had learned from Gaius. He noted the scars circling her neck, and his face stilled, fists clenched at his side, knuckles stretched white.

A tremor ran through his voice, and his shoulders sagged as if the realization threatened to collapse him. "I've failed you, Aithusa."

The dragon quirked her head, not understanding the shift in her Master's tone. She nuzzled his neck, trying to pull him out of this odd, inexplicable sadness.

Mithian's chest tightened painfully, to see Merlin's sorrow come to the surface, overwhelming in its vastness. She whispered, "Merlin look at me."

Merlin did.

She squeezed his hand. "How does she know and obey you, Merlin? Who are you to her?"

Merlin was silent for such awhile that Mithian feared he didn't hear her. Finally, he said, "I hatched her."

"You hatched her?"

"The Great Dragon was supposed to be the last dragon, after Uther killed them all, along with most of the…dragonlords," Merlin said, voice catching on the last word. "He was the last dragon, until suddenly he wasn't. We found out about a dragon egg and I journeyed to find it. I was the one to call her forth from her egg, and I named her Aithusa— _light of the sun_. A white dragon, which bodes well for Albion," he said bitterly.

"You called her forth? How do you have that kind of power?"

"My father…he was the last dragonlord. The gift passes from father to son when the father dies," he said glibly, shoulders shrugging.

"Don't, Merlin."

"Don't?"

Mithian shook her head. He was obviously used to burying his grief. "I'm sorry that you lost him."

"It's been a long time now. I met him for the first time, and then not two days later he died."

It was worse than Mithian thought. To hold this in for so long…"Merlin, does anyone know? Does Arthur know?"

"Only Gaius. And Arthur can't know."

"Why not? Why haven't you told him?" The tension in her voice caused Aithusa to bristle, and Mithian exhaled slowly.

"Because at the time, Uther killed all of the dragonlords, except one. He tricked my father into capturing the last dragon for his own purposes, a betrayal that was unforgivable. Uther then hunted him down like an animal, forcing him to abandon the woman he loved. He never knew that she was expecting.

"And when I finally met him," Merlin said, swallowing, "I wanted nothing more than to bring him to my mother, so we could all be together for the first time. So I could see her happy." Aithusa nuzzled him, whimpering. Merlin absently stroked her. "But he was killed before we were ever given a chance. We barely had time to acknowledge each other as father and son before he was struck down."

"Oh, Merlin."

How she wanted to envelope him in her arms and embrace him until every morsel of sorrow leapt out of him by Mithian's will alone.

"Still, how could you keep that from Arthur?"

"Don't you see?" Merlin cried. "Uther would have executed me on the spot if knew that Balinor was my father. And if I ran, he would have hunted me down. I couldn't abandon Arthur like that. And I couldn't put him in the position of choosing between loyalty and duty to his father and kingdom and the protection of some measly servant."

"If you're measly then I'm a gnat on a bull's backside."

Merlin protested.

"No, it's true, Merlin. So, Uther's out of the picture. He has been for a while. Why can't you tell Arthur now?"

"I want to. Oh how I want to. I want to tell him…everything. But how can I place this on his shoulders? He already carries so much as a king. I can't ask this of him. I can't ask this of _anyone_ ," he said, giving her a pointed look.

"This is where if I were Arthur I would hit you upside the head."

"Lucky for both of us you're not him, then." He gave her a tremulous smile.

"Lucky indeed." She smiled back. "So, the Great Dragon that attacked Camelot, did you have something to do with its defeat?"

"Yes, something." He shrugged.

"You say that as if saving Camelot is a routine occurrence for you, Merlin," Mithian said with a wry grin.

"Well, it sort of is," he replied cheekily. Mithian heard the little noise Aithusa made and thought that if dragons could roll their eyes, she would be doing so.

"Somehow I don't doubt it." Mithian directed her attention to Aithusa. "She is certainly a spirited thing. Which is lovely, considering she looks like she's been through quite a bit. Why is she…like this?" Mithian asked delicately.

"Because I failed her," he said, his voice brimming with unshed tears. "Through my neglect, she somehow fell into the hands of Morgana."

Aithusa rumbled at hearing Merlin saying that name, her little unintelligible growls sounding confused.

"Morgana?" Mithian asked.

"Yes," Merlin said, trying to soothe Aithusa. "I don't know how. I mean I left her with Kilgharrah and I thought he would take care of her. But he is old and perhaps I shouldn't have assumed he could keep up…" Merlin rambled off quickly and took a deep, shuddering breath. "And I don't know how she was so hurt…but it appears that Aithusa and Morgana have formed some kind of bond, and now Morgana uses Aithusa in her schemes. Aithusa doesn't know what she's doing is wrong, I don't think."

"You believe Morgana to be manipulating her?"

"I don't know. But I do know that Aithusa is a pure creature and would have never knowingly harmed anyone or served someone that was performing evil deeds."

Aithusa's growls grew more fervent, her agitation palpable.

"Can't you break that bond, as a dragonlord?"

Merlin considered what she said for a moment. And then, instinctively, he clasped Aithusa's distressed head and closed his eyes. "I don't know if this will work. But I'm searching for it, that connection between her and Morgana." He furrowed his brow in concentration. "I can see her," Merlin said in amazement. "I can see Aithusa's essence. Pure, like her name. I see…a tether, or perhaps more like a web. It's interconnected to a dark essence, which feels like Morgana—"

Mithian stifled a question on how Merlin could recognize something like Morgana's essence, whatever that meant.

"—and it's connected at many points, messy and inextricable. It doesn't have a beginning or end. It feels like…I can't really describe it, but perhaps the closest would be the bond between mother and child, but a little different. The aura is murky and one of suffering. It's primal, like they needed each other for survival.

"Just as I can feel what she is feeling, she can sense me, and she's confused at what she sees when I think of Morgana." Aithusa tried to shake off Merlin's hand, but he held on steadily. "She doesn't understand how the two people that she loves, the father that was formed from her birth, and the mother formed from her suffering—how there can be such bitterness there."

Mithian blanched, unsure of how she felt about Merlin and Morgana sharing such a connection, even if it was not with each other, directly.

Merlin considered it silently, hands still grasping her head. "I'm not sure this is something I can break. A bond formed this young, in her most vulnerable and formative years—it's rooted too deep into who Aithusa is. Especially in her fragile state, it may be too dangerous to sunder…but let me try something. I won't try to break it, but I can test its strength."

Merlin whispered something to Aithusa that Mithian didn't quite catch. Aithusa, however, reacted suddenly and violently. She rose to her full height, severing her connection with Merlin, and roared furiously, the earth trembling. Mithian stumbled back and covered her ears.

"Aithusa, Aithusa, what's wrong, girl?" Merlin asked pleadingly, trying to soothe her frayed nerves.

"What happened, Merlin?" Mithian exclaimed.

"I merely pulled one of the tethers taut: a gentle prodding, but I don't think she liked that very much. Please, Aithusa, I didn't mean to hurt you..."

But in her distress she no longer acknowledged him, her survival instinct fully activated. She growled at them ferociously.

"Merlin, she's not listening, she can no longer hear you!" Mithian cried out, as Aithusa advanced upon them.

It was at that moment that Arthur barged in with a barely contained fury, sword out and eyes glinting hard and unreadable. Mithian, in all the confusion, wasn't sure if he was charging toward Merlin or Aithusa. This time around, it was Mithian stepping in front of Merlin impulsively.

And the dragon, in turn, turned her wild eyes to the blonde intruder.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter! This one was hard to let go of (being my first fanfic and all), but I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for all your reviews, favs, and follows - you made this experience even more special. Would love to hear what you thought of the story :)

* * *

Chapter 6

Arthur should have learned by now that when it came to Merlin, nothing was simple. Here, he thought he had laid out a pretty straightforward scheme: set the bait and watch as Merlin fell for it hook, line, and sinker. He had hoped that Merlin would avoid the trap, and just sleep through the night like any sane person. But since when did Merlin do something that was expected of his station? At Arthur's core, he knew that Merlin would go. Because, somehow, he just couldn't help being an idiot—albeit a brave one.

Still, even for Merlin, this was too far.

And now, per usual, Merlin attracted complications as surely and truly as Arthur attracted Lady Vivian's everlasting devotion. For up ahead, a cloaked figure was following the manservant Arthur was supposed to be following. From the slightness of the figure, he guessed that it was female.

Considering that there was a shortage of females at Camelot and that there were only two present when Leon fibbed about Morgana's presence in the woods, Arthur had a good idea who the cloaked figure was.

He cursed. He thought about calling it off there and then and dragging Mithian back to the castle with Merlin in tow. Leading Merlin on a goose chase in the dark woods in order to force a confrontation was bad enough, but having Mithian there derailed whatever confidence he had in his plan going smoothly. Plus, he would now be inevitably facing the wrath of Guinevere.

* * *

"You're going to do _what_?" Guinevere asked in that tone reserved for when Arthur was about to do something particularly offensive to her sensible nature.

"It's just a test, Guinevere. Morgana's not really going to be there. If he does go, it'll prove my theory."

"Oh, and what theory is that exactly?" She crossed her arms.

"My theory is that he won't be able to resist being a do-gooder and will go after a 'weakened' Morgana himself. That of course raises a few questions, and if I confront him in the middle of this act, there isn't a way he can 'explain it' away. It'll just be me and him and I won't back down until I get some answers."

"Alright, that is the theory on what he will do, not an explanation for why you are doing this. So, why are you, and why now after all this time?

"Well, I haven't worked it out completely." Arthur frowned. "But there have been things that have happened, especially lately, that have been rather odd. I can't quite figure it out."

"You want to place Merlin at risk for something that you're not even sure about?"

"Well, not really risking him—remember that Morgana is not really there. But, haven't you ever wondered about Merlin? Thought there was something unusual, something off about him?

Gwen hesitated. "There were times…he just always seemed to know so much. Like he knew about circumstances that he had no business knowing—that no one else could possibly know. He claimed he was psychic, that he could read minds," Gwen reminisced with a smile.

Arthur snorted, then turned thoughtful. "You know, that actually may explain a few things."

Gwen laughed. "Yes, maybe it does."

"But ever since the whole ordeal with Rodor and Mithian, this idea of Merlin has deprived me my peace of mind. What kind of servant has two kings talking of how he swayed the destiny of their kingdoms, a princess enthralled, and the Knights of Camelot regaling the tale of his bravery in taverns? Am I missing something? Have I been blind?"

"Well, to be fair, that sort of attention is unusual for Merlin. He's never liked that sort of thing. Arthur," Gwen said, gently touching his cheek, "what is really bothering you?"

"It's been a whirlwind of a few days, and all of it has revolved around Merlin." He could really use another drink at the tavern, but the thought of that blasted establishment and Merlin's lack of history therein sent his mind reeling again.

"And?"

"And the one thought that has been invading my mind throughout all of this—the thing that keeps blaring in my head and won't let me go—is one realization, and it just feels so damning."

"What is it?"

"That his spending time in the taverns has been one big cover-up!"

"Arthur," Gwen intoned gently.

"Alright…It's the realization that I know _who_ he is—that is, I know his character, and that's why I know he'll go after Morgana. I know him, but I don't know anything _about_ him."

Gwen looked perplexed. "What do you mean? Of course you do!"

"No, I don't really know anything of true substance about his life. He's been with me for ten years, and I don't know him! Granted, I know he is brave, loyal to a fault, troublesome, irreverent, and at times uncannily wise. But I don't know anything beyond that. I don't know what his life was like in Ealdor, why he left, why he came to Camelot. I don't know anything about his father or what happened to him." Arthur paused and exhaled a breath. Quietly, he said, "I don't know why he goes through these periods of brooding, as if he had gone through something calamitous and world-shattering. What could he be going through to make him so, right under my watch?"

"You think he's in some sort of trouble, that he's hiding something?"

"I don't know what to think! It has been serious at times, to have him shut down like that. He doesn't get that way when we're off to face impossible battles; in fact, he's this annoyingly unfaltering source of faith in those circumstances. So, how bad must it be for Merlin, to get that way? He knows everything about me, but I can't say the same about him," he finished weakly.

Guinevere smiled. "The fact that you're wondering this, that it's _torturin_ g you, does reveal your heart Arthur. You consider him your friend…"

Arthur started to protest, though half-heartedly.

"Don't you try to deny it. You have such regard and trust for him, but I'm not sure he knows that, and maybe that's the problem here. Arthur, why don't you try to talk to him, instead of going about this in such a roundabout way?"

"I have tried, Guinevere—over and over again. He won't talk to me. And if I push him to say something, he just withdraws further or says something somewhat generic to shut me up. I'm just not good at talking about _feelings_ , at drawing people out. That's why I've got you."

Gwen sighed. "I'm still not sure about this."

"Please, I wouldn't be doing this if I saw another way."

"Just promise me one thing?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens, remember that his heart has always been true. Nothing you learn about him will change that."

* * *

Arthur, perhaps against his better judgment, decided to let it play out. Maybe he would come to regret this decision, but he had waited too long to turn back now. Thus he found himself following Mithian as she in turn followed his manservant. Sometimes he wondered if the Fates toyed with his life just for the hell of it.

Mithian was masterfully using her hunting instincts to step silently through the forest, guided by the light of the moon. Arthur likewise employed his own, but it appeared that Mithian was too distracted by Merlin up ahead to really pay heed to anyone behind her, as Merlin must be too distracted by the thought of Morgana to realize the caravan trailing behind him.

Suddenly, when they were near the clearing, Mithian took off toward Merlin and Arthur dove off the main path, so that he could still watch them without being seen in return.

In the clarity of the night, he heard almost every word, and in the glow of the full moon, he saw almost every expression, every gesture.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm going with you," Mithian said to Merlin, the very picture of defiance. Arthur had to admit that the woman had gall, and that he had always admired that about her.

"No, you're not," Merlin replied firmly.

"I don't seem to recall giving you a say in the matter."

"Mithian, you can't, it's much too dangerous. If your father found out, or even Arthur, they would have my head on a pike, quarter my limbs, and feed my kidneys to the hounds…and, and I would _agree_ with them."

Arthur almost snorted. So maybe his manservant wasn't so clueless after all. Merlin and Mithian had a few more heated exchanges, with Mithian determined to go with him, and Merlin just as determined that she should return. It was a bit like watching a spar between two of his knights, Arthur decided. They were almost an equal match when it came to the measure of their stubbornness.

"Then let me be here for you, Merlin," Mithian insisted. "Don't take this on just your shoulders, don't hoard this burden for yourself. From my short time here in Camelot, I've seen you do this without fail. Do they not see the weight of the burden you carry? You are there for them, for Arthur, over and over again, but _who_ is there for _you_?"

Mithian's focus was entirely on Merlin, standing close to the man and staring at him like she wanted to watch every word that formed from his mouth. Her words were meant for Merlin alone, and yet, it was like she was talking to Arthur, for they struck him straight in his gut. Her words rang true. For Mithian to see this about Merlin in such a short amount of time, when Arthur didn't in over a decade, well…Arthur swallowed hard.

Merlin, in what Arthur considered his 'wise man' tone, said in a whisper that carried right to Arthur's ears, "I do this because it _is_ my burden to carry, and mine alone. And despite appearances, it actually is better for me to take on Morgana by herself. A whole troupe of knights would hinder…"—Arthur shook his head and noted he would need to lecture his servant about delusions of self-grandeur again—"Just, just trust me on that. All it would do is provide the opportunity for more senseless deaths. No, if I face her alone…then I am the only to bear the price."

Who was Merlin to speak in such a way? How long had he done this, bearing the kingdom's burden on his shoulders? Arthur gritted his teeth. Morgana was Arthur's problem. The worries of the kingdom should be Arthur's alone.

They walked to the clearing, and after a moment, Arthur carefully followed them. Mithian now was speaking of her experiences in seeking out Merlin's help—the servant's help instead of the King's. Sure, Mithian had petitioned Arthur, but that was a front forced by Morgana—the true refuge she found was with Merlin, of all people.

They entered the clearing, heading towards the empty fire pit, and Arthur stayed behind in the brush, crouching down low. He couldn't quite hear as well in the distance, but he was able to decipher most of their words.

Merlin made one last attempt to get Mithian to turn back. _Good man_ , thought Arthur.

"You would make a lady walk all the way back through a forest filled with robbers and all manner of dangerous things in the middle of the night? Surely there's something about that in the Knight's Code?"

And that was the match. Mithian had proved the victor in her capacity for obstinacy. Arthur winced in commiseration.

"You're as stubborn as Arthur, my lady," Merlin said.

Arthur scrunched up his face.

"Prettier, I hope though."

"Oh, that is for sure."

 _And that's the stocks for you, friend,_ Arthur thought, supremely offended _._ He held in his laughter because he could just imagine Merlin's indignant reaction.

Princess and servant sat next to each other, silent amidst the sounds of the night and the breeze drifting the clouds across the sky, the moonlight blinking in and out on the two dark-haired, pale-skinned figures. Arthur shifted his legs from their cramped position.

To Arthur's surprise, Mithian broke the silence by apologizing to his manservant. With a tinge in his gut, Arthur felt even more uncomfortable.

After that, Mithian's voice was more a whisper, intimate as she looked up at him with eyes shining with tenderness. Arthur looked away, a creeping sense of shame at witnessing a moment not meant for him to see.

"I didn't want to go at first you know, when you came to Camelot," Merlin said reluctantly, guilt heavy in his voice. "Well, I did, I just wanted to make sure…I have learned to—"

"You have learned to not go blindly running to help everyone that comes your way, because every time you do you get burned."

Arthur smiled, remember his bumbling servant, so eager to help everyone, human or otherwise: the motherless baby birds he would nurse to health; the runt he would wrap in his arms to spare them from the butcher's ax; the servant he would defend against the King's wrath by drawing the anger towards himself; the druid boy he would help escape from execution. Merlin had helped all with an optimism that seemed stronger than any evil that had targeted Camelot or her people. In some ways, it was this steady characteristic of Merlin that kept Arthur going.

Now, that blind optimism of his servant's had wavered. Which was perhaps a good thing – maybe it kept him out of trouble. Still, Arthur couldn't help but mourn a little bit. Why—

"And that means you can't protect Arthur." These words from Mithian, above all others, hit Arthur with a ringing clarity, and reverberated through his skull like a crashing hammer on anvil. Mithian had hit close to the core, both for himself and for Merlin.

 _I'm going to be at your side, like I always am, protecting you._

Those words, when first spoken to him by his hapless servant, had left him in awe. A servant, protecting a king? He had been amazed at such a declaration, and not a little dubious. But here he was, years later, this sentiment apparently guiding Merlin's every action, making him turn away when he normally wouldn't, dulling that once indefatigable optimism in his eyes. Most of these actions, Arthur now realized, he did not really witness. What else had he done that he didn't even know about? Perhaps even to the scale of facing a sorceress in the dark woods, alone?

Who did the fool think he was to do so? Arthur gritted his teeth and blinked his eyes rapidly: he didn't ask for Merlin's protection. He didn't want it, if it cost Merlin who he was.

Arthur silently cheered for Mithian to keep pressing. She was getting there-asking him why he turned people away, why he hid in plain sight-closer perhaps than he had ever been capable of getting, which came not without its own bitterness.

"When I first met you I knew right away I would have to get your approval if I was to entertain any hopes of being with Arthur. He values, and still values, your words above all others."

Arthur's first reaction was to contradict her, but this night had turned him inside out and raw and too honest to deny what was admittedly true.

"If he doesn't show that, it's not because he doesn't trust you, it's because even when you warn him of danger he still feels it's his duty to go anyway, despite the risk to his person. And that's somewhat your fault."

Arthur hadn't ever really given it much thought, but perhaps he could blame some of his recklessness on Merlin's undying faith. Like _that_ would go over well with Guinevere.

And that's when Arthur heard the rustling in the distance and saw that Merlin was already alert. That rustling turned into a crash of snapping branches and out emerged a white dragon—Morgana's dragon-charging toward Merlin and Mithian.

Arthur had already risen to his feet, brandishing his sword and stepping forward, but it was too late. Arthur gasped as the dragon was about to knock down the pair, only to be stopped short by a word from Merlin.

His mind took a moment to catch up to what just happened. Merlin, his servant, had stopped a dragon charging full speed with just a word. "Aithusa," he had called it. He still could not comprehend it, dazedly staring as Merlin embraced the dragon's head tenderly and Mithian stood in awe, looking about as floored as he felt.

"She knows you, Merlin. How does she know you?" Mithian's voice broke through the scene.

 _Yes,_ Mer _lin. How is it that you have a dragon—Morgana's dragon—at your beck and call? How is it that you obviously know it and it returns the favor? When did you have even_ time _to tame dragons? All those instances I was told you were in the tavern?_ Arthur thought venomously.

Merlin guided Mithian's hand onto the dragon's head, and laid his own on top of Mithian's. Together the linked trifecta-with the bowed head of Merlin, the wide wonder of Mithian, and the elation of the dragon as it looked to Merlin—was blanketed in a moment of serenity. Arthur, whose heart rate had finally slowed, likened what he was witnessing to a scene from the tales of Avalon and fairies and water nymphs that he and Morgana had liked to read secretly despite the express prohibition of his (their) father. They took turns distracting and sneaking past Geoffrey in order to borrow the weathered volume of tales for an evening. Arthur shook away the memory.

Finally, Merlin stepped back, and in a voice Arthur hardly recognized, said, "I've failed you, Aithusa." No, this was no longer the carefree boy Arthur had met all those years ago.

If perhaps Arthur thought they were finally done with the worst of the revelations, he had apparently greatly underestimated Merlin's ability to stupefy him.

"I hatched her," Merlin finally said, in answer to Mithian's question. Well there it was. The word that had been on the tip of Arthur's mind, the one he had refused to acknowledge. _Dragonlord_. But how in the world was that possible? The last dragonlord was gone. Dead, with Balinor.

"The Great Dragon was supposed to be the last dragon, after Uther killed them all, along with most of the…dragonlords," Merlin said. Arthur noted with some unease the way Merlin had said _Uther_ , with all the force of bitterness that someone like Merlin could possess. How did he ever miss that? Or was this something else he kept hidden in his growing repository of secrets?

"He was the last dragon, until suddenly he wasn't. We found out about a dragon egg and I journeyed to find it. I was the one to call her forth from her egg, and I named her Aithusa— _light of the sun_. A white dragon, which bodes well for Albion."

"You called her forth? How do you have that kind of power?"

"My father…he was the last dragonlord. The gift passes from father to son when the father dies."

And then it all clicked into place. _No man is worth your tears_ , a young Arthur had told a young Merlin, happy he could impart what he considered a particularly wise admonishment to his distraught friend. It's what his father had taught him, and what he passed on to his knights, and then, to Merlin. He had actually thought himself useful—was glad even—to finally be helpful to his somewhat inscrutable servant. Arthur felt sickened.

"Merlin, does anyone know? Does Arthur know?" Mithian asked, distressed.

"Only Gaius. And Arthur can't know."

To not tell him after all these years. To think he had no idea that his dearest friend had gone through something like this—right in front of his eyes. Arthur looked down, and remotely noted, as if an outside observer, that his hands were shaking.

"Why not? Why haven't you told him?"

"Because at the time, Uther killed all of the dragonlords, and he tricked my father into capturing the last dragon for his own purposes, a betrayal that was unforgivable. He then hunted him down like an animal, forcing him to abandon the woman he loved." _Hunith_ , Arthur thought. The gentle, spirited woman in Ealdor.

"He never knew she was expecting. And when I finally met him," Merlin said, his voice thick, "I wanted nothing more than to bring him to my mother, so we could all be together for the first time. So I could see her happy.

"But he was killed before we were ever given a chance. We barely had time to acknowledge each other as father and son before he was struck down."

Arthur pitched forward, both of his hands digging into the soft underbrush of the earth. All of his life he had heard of the evils of dragons and dragonlords. Uther had breathlessly described defeating this ancient plague on the kingdom, beasts and masters all but extinct. It had sent Uther into a prideful gluttony to think that such a power had fallen at his hands, that such rot had been uprooted by his wiles. The young prince had marveled at his father, not without a worship of his own.

If looking back at these moments the man had recognized the excesses of the father, he had never, _never_ imagined something like this: that his father's actions would forever change the course of a life he knew, one he cared about more than just about anyone's. His father's deep hatred had personal, tragic, permanent consequences for Merlin's life: Merlin, who had grown up without a father only to lose him almost immediately after they met; Hunith, who raised her son single-handedly without her husband; Balinor, who lived in exile having to leave his love behind, never knowing that he had a son-thinking that he had betrayed his family, both human and dragon.

A consequence so personal, Arthur felt it keenly. In hearing all of Uther's boasts, Arthur had never stopped to consider the people, the real people that had been affected forever by his actions and decrees. If there was to be a judgment against Uther, Merlin's life would be perhaps the most damning. And Arthur had had no idea. His hands white and clammy and his heart palpitating, he had to stop himself from heaving.

"Still," Mithian asked, "how could you keep that from Arthur?"

"Don't you see? Uther would have executed me on the spot if he knew that Balinor was my father. And if I ran, he would have hunted me down. And I couldn't abandon Arthur like that. And I couldn't put him in the position of choosing between loyalty and duty to his father and kingdom and protecting some measly servant."

And there it was. Arthur, whose mind had not turned off since they returned to Camelot, whose sleep-deprived brain had been whirling with the shadows of memories and half-forgotten epiphanies, was suddenly silenced with a single thought: the fool, the damn fool, paid too high a price. For him.

"Uther's out of the picture. He has been for a while. Why can't you tell Arthur now?"

"I want to. Oh how I want to. I want to tell him…everything. But how can I place this on his shoulders? He already carries so much as a king. I can't ask this of him. I can't ask this of _anyone_."

There he was again, trying to protect Arthur, protect him from feeling _this_. Arthur agreed with Mithian: he wanted to smack him on the head for not realizing that he would go through an eternity of these betrayals and disillusionments for Merlin.

"So…the Great Dragon that attacked Camelot, did you have something to do with its defeat?"

"Yes, something," Merlin said casually.

Arthur steadied his breath and closed his eyes, remembering his knight's training. Exactly how much more was there going to be? How much more could he take?

When Arthur opened his eyes, Merlin was clasping the dragon's head, talking as though he could see inside its mind, could physically see the connection between it and Morgana. _No wonder Uther thought the dragonlords cousins to sorcerers._ Arthur quickly stifled the thought.

It was apparent to him, with a warrior's instinct, that the dragon was becoming increasingly agitated. It did not like whatever it was Merlin was doing.

Arthur looked on with concern; he had both Merlin's and Mithian's safety to consider. The dragon kept trying to throw off Merlin's hands. Arthur recognized the look of a caged animal and readied himself.

And suddenly, in a crescendo of fury, it rose to its full height. This time, it did not listen to Merlin's voice and Arthur wondered if Merlin was as incompetent a dragonlord as he was a servant. That would be so like him.

This physical danger was something he was familiar, even comfortable, with. This he understood. Without another thought, Arthur rushed forward, his sword ready to defend and strike if needed. He noted in the back of his head Mithian's startled expression and how she reflexively stood in front of Merlin as if he was would charge after his manservant (though the thought was tempting).

When Arthur would describe this moment later on, he would always say that one had to be there in order to believe it. He was there, and he hardly believed what transpired right in front of him.

Just a few seconds into his charge Arthur realized that maybe this was not one of his best ideas. For the dragon turned to the intruder, eyed him wildly and opened its mouth in his direction. He was perhaps a dozen foot-lengths from the dragon, when he saw the swirl of fire in the back of its throat, twisting like an inferno, readying to spring.

He barely had time to blink before that mass of flame shot directly at him, the heat of it increasing like a wave. Time seemed to slow and in that moment, all Arthur heard were words, indecipherable words, coming from all directions at once, coming from Merlin. _Was that Merlin?_

The words boomed like thunder, feral in their ferocity. " _Drakon pyra eisakouo foni ek sou kyrios. Pyri echromai moi tafti_!" Merlin shouted with a volume that rivaled the dragon's roar.

And immediately, the fire that was a mere second away from turning Arthur to ash redirected its flow—mid-path—to Merlin's outstretched hand.

Arthur stood frozen, watching as the burst of fire turned sharply away from him, streaming toward Merlin. Instead of burning the servant to a crisp, the flames funneled, absorbing into Merlin's hand until nothing was left. The agonizing heat, the blinding light that had illuminated the entire clearing, all gone. Complete, unnerving silence followed: the crickets, the birds, even the wind, utterly silent at the display of power.

 _Well then. Not an incompetent dragonlord after all._

Who was he, that the very _breath_ of the dragon obeyed his command?

The dragon had calmed, completely deflated, and likewise Arthur sank to his knees and let out one raw laugh. Then that laugh devolved into hysterical guffaws, until Arthur was clutching his stomach with uncontrollable laughter, unshed tears in his eyes. Mithian and Merlin looked at each other in concern.

Finally, after what seemed a prolonged period of time, Arthur quieted and looked at everyone in turn: Mithian, who looked ready to challenge him; Merlin, who was as tense as a coiled spring; the dragon, who now seemed tame and had lost all interest in him.

"What was that? C-can dragonlords do that?"

"Dragonlords, sire?" Merlin asked carefully.

"Oh come off it. I heard _everything_. Plus there's no denying what I just saw with my own eyes. You're a dragonlord."

Realizing that there was no way out, Merlin nodded slowly, apprehensive. Clearing his throat, he started, "Well, dragonlords are both master and kin to dragons: every aspect of the dragon must heed the command of a dragonlord, including its very fire. The fire merely returned to where it belonged." Merlin paused and then smiled sheepishly. "Though to be honest I wasn't sure if that would work."

" _You weren't sure it would work_?" Arthur asked, aghast. "MERLIN!"

"Well I'm sorry, _your highnes_ s, that I didn't have time to work out an elaborate, tried and true plan when _you charged a dragon_ out of nowhere, and that all I could eke out was the total obedience of the dragon's fire to save you." And then, under his breath he muttered, "I swear that there's just no pleasing you."

Arthur almost smiled then: this was familiar territory. The Merlin he knew wasn't completely gone.

"Besides Arthur, what in the blazes are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing! What were you thinking, wanting to go after Morgana by yourself? You were _supposed_ to stay in Camelot!"

Merlin stared at him for a beat. "Morgana wasn't ever here was she?"

Arthur looked away.

"You, you tricked me? Arthur, why?"

"Oh no no no. I think it is I who gets to ask the questions here, Merlin."

"This isn't how I wanted you to find out. You didn't give me a choice."

"Oh and what have the last ten years been?" Arthur said with a deceptive quietness. This was an altogether different type of fury, a cold one. "How could you never tell me Merlin?"

"I couldn't Arthur. Did you hear what I told Mithian? I couldn't leave your side, and I couldn't put you through this."

"What did you think I would do? Let Uther execute you? Banish you from the kingdom myself?"

Merlin hesitated, and seeing it, Arthur drove his sword into the ground with a frustrated yell.

"How could you think that of me, after all this time? Why did you not tell me about Balinor? About what my father did to your family?"

"Arthur," Merlin said quietly, "would you have believed me? Uther, despite his faults, was your father: untouchable, stalwart, perhaps even heroic to you. You did everything you could to live up to him in his eyes."

"I would have believed you."

"Did you believe me about Agravaine, an uncle you barely knew?"

Arthur blanched. "That's a low blow, Merlin."

But Merlin did not assuage. "Hell, Arthur," Merlin said, scowling, "you didn't even believe me about Cedric, a man you had just met. You gave him my position without a second thought. You put his word above mine, despite the fact that I had served you faithfully for years."

"You just won't let me live that down will you? I admit, it was not my best moment."

"No, it was not."

"But gods, Merlin, this, _this_? How could you keep this from me all these years? I know that I don't say this often, if ever. But Merlin, are you not my friend?"

Merlin flinched. "Always, Arthur."

"Friends don't keep this kind of thing from each," Arthur said coldly.

"Arthur, you don't know how much I've wanted to tell you. But I was too scared—a coward," Merlin said.

"Merlin, that's not true—" Mithian interjected.

But Merlin continued, "I couldn't face the thought of your rejection. And I could never risk having to leave your side."

The frenzied swirl of rage within Arthur was familiar. It had only occurred a few times in his life: when he had discovered Guinevere's rendezvous with Lancelot, and when he had thought his father had used magic to conceive him, a choice which cost his mother her life.

"How could you let me go on thinking that nothing had happened? That you hadn't just lost your father that day?" _No man is your worth your tears._ "How could you let me be such a _buffoon_?"

Merlin smiled waveringly, eyes shining. "Well, you've never really needed my permission before."

Yes, this bitter rage was all too achingly familiar for Arthur. Except this time, he realized, it was aimed at himself.

Arthur rubbed his temples, all of the sudden exhausted. "So then, you're really a dragonlord? And a somewhat decent one, by the looks of it."

Merlin laughed weakly. "Only somewhat?"

"Well you are certainly more competent at taming dragons than you are at being a servant."

"I'll have you know I'm a damn good servant! When I want to be."

Arthur looked toward the dragon, assessing. "So you hatched…that?"

" _That_ has a name," Mithian said, breaking her silence. "Aithusa."

"Aithusa," Arthur said, wonderingly. Up close, he could see her brokenness. Even at a distance, Arthur noted its awkward gait with a huntsman's precision. "You really have dragons under your command?" Arthur asked under his breath.

"Yes, but I use that authority sparingly, especially if it was to make them do something they were adamant against doing."

Arthur stepped closer to Aithusa, experimentally, and she stepped back, skittish.

"Aithusa, it's okay," Merlin whispered, stroking her head. "I know he's a prat, and that takes a bit of getting used to, believe me I know. But he's alright in the end." Aithusa huffed and didn't assent.

"Maybe another time, Arthur. She's still a little unnerved."

Arthur just looked at the two of them, and shook his head in disbelief.

After a moment, Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You said they."

"What?"

"You said 'something _they_ were adamant against doing.' And you," Arthur said, turning to Mithian, "mentioned the Great Dragon that attacked Camelot, implying that Merlin had something to do with its defeat. That's funny because I seem to recall Merlin telling me that it was I who dealt it a mortal blow." The steel in his voice was back.

Merlin sighed wearily, and Mithian squeezed his upper arm.

"Arthur, don't you think that's enough revelations for one night?" Mithian asked.

"No, Mithian, it's okay. Might as well at this point," Merlin said, wincing, "I defeated the dragon, Kilgharrah, and I let him go."

"Repeat that for me again."

"I let the dragon go…and I was the one who released him from his imprisonment, under an oath," Merlin said miserably.

"I don't think I quite understood you. You were the one who released it. It being the dragon that terrorized Camelot, just to make sure we're talking about the same beast. And then you let it go."

"I had sworn on my mother's life to release him! I had no idea at the time of my oath what he would do…"

"Merlin, how could you?"

"I know Arthur. There is nothing you can say that I haven't said to myself. Those deaths I will hold with me forever," Merlin said, his voice breaking. Mithian clasped one of his trembling arms, his pain reflected in her eyes.

"I can't agree with what my father did to yours. But surely my father was right in keeping the dragon chained? Was he not vindicated when the dragon upon release ravaged Camelot in its wake?"

"Arthur, nothing I say can excuse what Kilgharrah did. But no, not even in this case was Uther right. Your father killed all of Kilgharrah's kin: intelligent, sentient creatures that had gained unimaginable wisdom accumulated from lives that spanned _thousands_ of years. Creatures that have seen kingdoms of men rise and fall, the turning of the ages, the meeting of the old religion with the new—all wiped out, all wasted, for the pride of one man, whose life is but a blink of eye compared to them. When their blood seeped into the earth, the old religion demanded justice for such a grievous wrong, for the balance that had been upset.

"As a creature of the old religion, Kilgharrah was a vessel for its wrath, its vengeance for the lost kin and for keeping one of its own chained and humiliated and used as an example for all those years. Thus, the punishment of Camelot was the punishment of Uther. For Uther's sins, many had to bear the price.

"Even knowing this, understanding it, _feeling_ it, if there was a way I could go back and prevent him from doing what he did, I would."

Arthur experienced a strange sense of déjà vu. This talk of kingdoms paying the price was not new to him. After all, did not once Camelot have to suffer for his own arrogance, his own casual cruelty in killing a creature of magic? Like father, like son. Arthur swallowed.

Ultimately, this was Uther's fault, and yet Merlin took the burden upon himself. A servant, carrying the kingdom on his shoulders, with its king unaware who had taken the weight off of him.

"But you let him go?" Arthur asked quietly.

"Yes, with the condition that he would die if he was to return to Camelot. I couldn't kill him, Arthur, he was the last of his kind."

"He was the justice, and you were the mercy," Mithian said. "A perfect balance."

Merlin nodded. "That is why a dragon should not be without a dragonlord and vice versa. Your father," he said, facing Arthur, "upset the balance and it had to be set right."

"I think I understand. But you must break this habit of deciding my kingdom's fate behind my back, Merlin," Arthur said wearily. "It's unbecoming of a servant."

"I will try my best, sire."

"Uh, gentlemen? As sorry as I am to interrupt such a nice chat, but Aithusa is sensing something." Mithian pointed to the creature.

Aithusa held her head high, staring at the distance, alert.

"What is it, Merlin?" Arthur asked. "Has she heard something?"

Merlin considered. "Yes, I think so. I think there is only one thing that could make her react this way."

"And that is?"

"Morgana."

"Morgana? Is she here?" Arthur reached for his sword.

Merlin shook his head. "Dragons are able to hear the call of their masters from leagues away. This is something usually between dragon and dragonlord, but Aithusa and Morgana have an unusual link. When I…connected with Aithusa earlier, I saw that those two had been separated for the longest time since they have been together.

"Remember that Morgana had been caught in the tomb collapsing and was knocked unconscious. No doubt, Aithusa has been wandering since, looking for Morgana after she didn't reappear after a certain amount of time. Now, it appears that Morgana is calling for her."

Aithusa looked at Merlin, and then looked to the distance, her eyes betraying her confusion.

Merlin shook his head. "Aithusa, no…"

Aithusa's head shot up again, as if she heard the faraway call with more urgency. She shifted her weight, not understanding this pull, this feeling of being torn.

"Aithusa," Merlin said, tenderly grasping the sides of her head. He regarded her steadily. "I know I have failed you. I know I was not there for you. But please, let me be there for you now."

Aithusa whimpered. She leaned in and touched the top of her head to Merlin's forehead, closing her eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, dragon and her dragonlord. Then she jolted, the desperation of another call mirrored in her movements. She pulled back.

"Stay with me," Merlin whispered to her retreating form, his voice as quiet as an inhaled breath.

Aithusa glanced back at him, with mournful eyes that seemed at once young and old. She stared at him for a moment, as if committing his form to memory, and then with a bow of her head, she pushed off the ground and spread her crooked wings, soaring off into the sky—away from Merlin.

Merlin stood there staring, but seeing nothing.

Arthur wanted to turn away, for he could barely stand looking at the deep cavern of emptiness in his friend's eyes, belying a pain he could not even express, a vulnerability more potent than nakedness. The severance had been palpable.

Mithian moved closer and leaned her head against Merlin's chest, silently embracing him.

Arthur hardly knew what do in the face of something like this. But he knew what it was like for a loved one to choose someone else. A string of people had betrayed him: Morgana, Guinevere, Agravaine. In some ways, his father also had, for not being the man he thought he was. And finally, he counted himself, above all, the foremost offender. He understood now what it was like to have loved ones choose to turn elsewhere, to choose to close off, because one failed them—one could not be what they needed. Arthur looked at his servant, at the overwrought tension of his upper body, and his thoughts echoed Merlin's words to Aithusa: _stay with me_.

Arthur did the only thing he could think of: he moved in and clasped the man's shoulder. Mithian and Arthur held on to Merlin as if he couldn't stand on his own. This new trifecta stood there together in the middle of the clearing for an innumerable amount of time, silent as the sounds of the forest returned and washed over them, as the pre-dawn light emerged little by little.

Finally, Mithian pulled back a bit and looked up at Merlin. "She will return to you." It was not a question, but a statement uttered in absolute certainty. Merlin looked down.

"I saw the way she looked at you. You are first in her heart, but perhaps you are not who needs her the most right now," Mithian said gently. "You have me and Arthur. Morgana is not as rich."

"Mithian's right, Merlin," Arthur said. "She will be back." He clapped his shoulder and stepped away. "Besides, no matter how poor of a servant you are, you're still better than Morgana. I mean, does she even know how to mend socks or remove a wine stain from a shirt as if it was never there (after being the one to put it there in the first place of course)? Does she know how to make camp stew from scratch that's actually somewhat tolerable? No, I don't think so, and those are not qualities one cannot easily stay away from."

Merlin smiled weakly. "You are such a prat."

Arthur smiled back. "Come on you two," he said, pointing to the path homeward. "That's enough shenanigans for one night."

The three of them soon emerged out of the woods, in the field facing Camelot. The dawn had emerged fully, enveloping them in a morning light, the clouds a gentle rose-gold, the air as crisp and cool as the dew beading the blades of grass and the ragged weeds.

Arthur stretched and yawned. "Well Merlin, please tell me you don't have any more secrets to tell me? No secret family sequestered away somewhere? You're not really a king of some far off land are you?" Arthur asked, horrified at the thought.

"Well maybe not yet, anyway," Mithian whispered to herself, smiling.

"What was that?" Merlin asked.

"Oh nothing," Mithian said innocently.

Merlin shrugged and returned to Arthur's question. "No, Arthur, nothing besides the fact that I have magic and am the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth," he said in his usual deadpan.

Arthur noted the slight widening of Mithian's eyes, as if something had clicked into place. He assessed Merlin: the man was outwardly calm, facetious as usual. But there was a slight veneer glazing his eyes, and a tremulous undercurrent in his words, as if he was masking an apprehension, as if he was testing the waters.

Arthur let the silence stretch a moment longer before slinging his arm over Merlin's shoulders. "Oh Merlin, you have tried this before. And what did I call you then?"

Merlin sagged as if both relieved and disappointed. "An idiot."

"Right! Looks like not much has changed then."

"You also claimed, in front of the whole court, that I was in love with Gwen."

Arthur scrunched his face in thought. "I did, didn't I? Well, that's because I thought you were... Didn't she give you a flower or something? _Was_ there something go on?" Arthur asked in perhaps his most dangerous tone of the entire night.

"What? Of course not! I didn't even know she liked me until she, until she…" Merlin stopped himself and gulped. "Well, would you look at the time," Merlin said, extracting himself from Arthur's grasp. "I need to, uh, pick herbs for Gaius that only appear in the early morning light." He bounded away rapidly.

"On no you don't! You get back here! As your lord and sovereign I demand you finish that sentence!" Arthur boomed. Merlin just increased his pace, and Mithian laughed, standing beside Arthur.

Arthur looked over at her and exhaled his breath, exasperated. Mithian noted Arthur's hands at his side, and Arthur followed her stare. His hands were clasped tightly, the nails biting into his palms with a tension that had nothing to do with Guinevere's mysterious past with Merlin. Arthur quickly relaxed them, but it was too late.

She gave him a smile that shined from within. "You did well, Arthur Pendragon. Remember that you're not the only one that will be carrying his weight." And with that, she sped off after Merlin.

He watched her run to his manservant in the wide field, the dawn casting the white stones of the looming Camelot in a ruddy radiance.

"Merlin, wait!" she called.

Merlin whirled his head around, and upon seeing an incoming Mithian, he pumped his legs faster.

Mithian snickered and picked up her stride, unable to resist the call of the hunt.

No, the world was not ready. Arthur was not sure he was ready.

Merlin appeared to trip on air, and Mithian slammed into him throwing her arms around his back. She buried her head in between the blades of his shoulders, laughing. Merlin's shoulders bounced with his own laughter, the deepness of it reverberating and entangling with Mithian's higher, more ringing one.

The world wasn't ready, but that didn't mean he couldn't start doing _something_ to get it there. After all, what he not the King? It was the least he could do for Merlin, after everything.

He chuckled as he watched the two from a distance. And then that laugh stopped short when they moved from locking arms to locking lips.

Arthur cursed. Now Gwaine would never shut up about winning the wager.

 **THE END**


End file.
